


RUN

by Keira1206



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keira1206/pseuds/Keira1206
Summary: They made a pact 10 years ago, in her first year at university. One day — any day they chose, or when they needed it most — they could text each other a single word, and they would meet again, to travel across the continent on an adventure.It was a drunken pact. But she remembered the details like it were tattooed directly on her skin. She just never thought the day would come.Until it did. When she saw that one word flash across her phone, from an unknown number.“RUN,” it read.**The premise of this fic is based on the HBO show of the same name, but will not follow the same story line.**
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 74
Kudos: 117





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hi there, longtime listener, first time caller. 
> 
> This fell in to my head and I just couldn't get it out. I'm a pretty avid reader of this pairing, but this is the first time I've ever tried to work with them myself. It's the first time I've attempted writing in a long time, actually. So please be kind.

** +44 345-555-5309: **

_RUN_.

The blue bubble was bright against the white background.

She didn’t know the number. But she knew who it was from. It had been over a year since they’d spoken, but it took all of her composure to stare at the screen and not throw the phone down as if it had burned her.

It was absurd. It had been a drunken pact. A drunken promise of two people who knew so little about how the world worked. Two people who wanted to believe in freedom and adventure. In themselves. Blindly. The way only young people could.

She was a different person now. Maybe. Mostly.

She was freshly showered from the gym. Her duffel bag in the passenger seat beside her.

She looked into her own eyes in the rearview mirror and scrunched up her brows.

Was she stupid enough to answer? They always said they could ignore the call. It wasn’t a distress signal. It was an invitation. But still...

She had a life now. One she was contented in. Happy, maybe. Sometimes bored. But content. A life she’d built for herself. Even after all the turmoil of the past 10 years. She’d barely even thought about him in the past few months.

Except that wasn’t true. She hadn’t thought about _them_ in months. Them _together_. But she did think about him.

She thought about him whenever certain songs came on shuffle in the gym, or while she studied. She thought about him when the sky was particularly clear and she could see the stars from the fire escape while she smoked a rare cigarette. She thought about him when she had to solve a particularly difficult statistical data set. One he would have found simple.

But she didn’t think about them _together_ very much anymore.

It had taken years to get to that point, though. Years to not think about what they had once been. About the relationship that could have been, but just wasn’t right.

When she had thought of them together, she felt guilty. She felt like a naive little girl, and she was neither naive nor a little girl anymore. Life had wrung that out of her with force.

But even back then she hadn't been naive enough to believe they would have worked out. She wasn’t like Sansa, pining away for a lost love like in sappy love songs. And she felt guilty and weak when she thought about “what ifs”.

_What if they had tried long distance? What if she had put more effort in to staying in touch? What if he’d tried harder to stay in contact, too? What if she had taken that full ride offer from the University of Storms End instead of staying in King’s Landing for her PhD? What if, what if, what if..._

She wasn’t even sure where the idea came from. It was too flighty and soft for either of them. Neither were the type to think of something so... romantic. But somehow they had. While sitting in their favorite pub, in her second semester of freshman year. They had been seeing each other for a few months when they came up with it, but hadn't put a label on it. They’d never put a label on it, actually.

Calling him her boyfriend wasn’t important, and didn’t change anything. But it didn’t stop other people from calling him that. Her sister and Jon and sometimes, mockingly, Theon, would call him her boyfriend. But she never had. And he never called her his girlfriend. At least not for her to hear.

They knew even then that it wouldn’t last. Not in a fatalistic way that marred the way they acted or treated each other. They were never sad or jaded by it. They just knew that the logistics were off. She was a freshman, and he was in his fifth year senior in his engineering program, a common occurrence for engineering students at King’s Landing University. He already had a job lined up after three straight years of internships with the same firm in Storm End. He’d already signed the contract before they’d even met.

He was a close friend of Jon’s. And Jon didn’t have many of those. She’d learn later that Gendry didn’t have many of those, either. Close friends were far and few between. He was quiet. Jaded. He kept to himself. But when he was close to someone, he loved and felt fiercely. He wasn’t close to people because he didn’t know how to let that many people in. He didn’t know how to keep them all in his heart the way that others did.

She wasn't sure how she broke down his walls, or how he broke down hers, but they had. They had become something she never expected. Never wanted to believe in. He became her best friend, and she thought she became his, too.

And that’s why she was considering it. Why she hadn’t just thrown her phone down and continued along with her day as usual.

She could have started her car up. She could have slowly angled it on to the dark street and headed home. Home, to her dog and her books and the happy little life she had for herself.

She scrunched up her face one last time, not looking at herself this time. She pursed her lips and then licked them, feeling how dry her mouth had become after a long night at the gym.

And without thinking too much about it, without thinking of the consequences or that she didn’t have a travel bag or a phone charger, without confirming she didn’t have a class in the morning, she typed three letters, deliberately and in all caps.

_RUN_.


	2. New Person, Same Old Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Water Gardens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't guarantee fast chapters like this moving forward, but this will be meandering and it kind of flows out of my fingertips when I don't have much of a direction. Once there's a real plot, we'll see how quickly this goes. But maybe there won't really be a plot. I don't have a solid idea of where it's going.
> 
> But here it is. This is what I will say: I get bored after the resolution of a story, so it'll end then. Whenever that is.
> 
> The title of this chapter is the Tame Impala song. Check it out for some of the tempo of this chapter.

She came to her senses on the drive to the airport. She started thinking more. She called Sansa. And her sister picked up on the third ring. 

“Hello, darling sister,” Sansa trilled musically over the bluetooth speaker in her car. And for a second she thought she might ask her sister for advice. Perhaps even to talk her out of the decision she’d just made. But… Arya Stark wasn’t known for being talked out of her choices. 

“Hey Sans. Favor to ask you,” she said without preamble. She was sitting straight-backed in the driver's seat, tense in her trajectory as she angled onto the highway. 

“Shoot.” But Sansa wasn’t listening closely, she could hear some soft music in the background, and it sounded like a few friends were over. 

“Can you grab Nymeria from my apartment and watch her for a week or so?”

Sansa seemed to be cooking, she could hear her tasting something and gently smacking her lips. “Sure, want me to pick her up from you in the morning? Where are you going?”

“Umm…” She held tightly to the steering wheel, and chose her words carefully. “Could you actually pick her up tonight? You still have your spare key, right?”

“Yeah… Are you ok? You sound strange. Where are you going?” She asked again.

“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine. Just a last minute thing.” She tried to make her voice sound more confident and less like she had been taken hostage and was calling for the ransom.

“Oh my gosh, is Edric whisking you away somewhere glorious?” She winced as she swerved around a slow moving truck. She hadn’t thought about Edric. Well, she hadn’t thought about Edric in awhile, actually. 

“Ha, no no, nothing like that.” Because it definitely was not like that. 

“Well you gotta give me something here. I’m your bored, pregnant sister.”

“I’m taking a trip. I found a great deal.” And it didn’t sound that strange. Arya was known to take last minute trips when she saw fit. She got antsy often, and her siblings knew her propensity for last minute adventures. Sometimes for work, sometimes on a whim. Sometimes just because she had a few days to spare and wanted out of her apartment. Just a few months before she’d backpacked in Lys alone for two weeks with only a few days notice.

“Ha, ok. Where are you headed this time?”

“Dorne, to start.” She said truthfully as she swerved across two lanes to take the exit for the airport. 

The ticket to Dorne was not a deal, she lamented as she swiped her credit card at the kiosk in the departure terminal. It cost her most of the air miles she's racked up over the past year. Tickets to tropical destinations didn’t tend to come on the cheap at the last minute. Especially at the start of Spring Break in King’s Landing. If she’d had more time she probably could have found something cheaper, but all of this hedged on a swift departure.

***

She walked into the hotel at the Water Gardens with uncertainty and tightness in her shoulders. This was where they had agreed to meet, but it had been so long, how could she be sure he’d remember?

The whole thing felt like a lifetime ago. And in a way, it had been. Like she’d dreamt the whole thing. Like she’d been a different person, and someone had just told her this story once. And as a result, she’d felt in a trance since boarding the plane. 

So without even looking toward the check-in desk, or checking her watch, she walked to the hotel bar. It was too early to check-in. And honestly, a drink offered much more comfort than a bed at this point.

She didn’t know if he’d arrived yet. She didn’t know where he was. She didn’t know much of anything about him anymore. They hadn’t exchanged another text after her acceptance of his challenge. But all the details were in the original deal. They were the only details, really. Meet at the Water Gardens within 24 hours. Twenty-four hours became when they were young, it would have taken them that long to drive to Dorne. 

The hotel bar was wide and open, the setting seeming to transition from indoors to outdoors without so much as a glass door. 

And he sat with his back to her, looking out at the Water Gardens from the bar. It was early in the day, and the sun was shining brightly from the east, casting a bright, almost otherworldly glow on the marble and terracotta. 

His shoulders were wide, but slumped. Turned in on himself in a way that felt as familiar as her own reflection. 

She took the stool beside him. 

The well-dressed bartender was attentive, and quickly approached with a napkin and a kind smile. 

“Vodka soda, please. Extra lime.” 

And even though she had her attention on the bartender, she saw his head quirk in her direction. She couldn’t see it, but she knew he was smiling. And she could practically feel the sigh he released.

He didn’t speak until she had a drink in front of her, though. 

“I’d already bought the ticket when I texted you,” he said into his glass of amber alcohol. Whiskey, a single melting ice cube, she knew.

“Just fancy a holiday, then?” And this time she could see his smirk in her periphery while she wrapped her lips around the cocktail straw. 

“No.” 

He pushed a folded booklet toward her on the bar, and for a second she thought about how they must look. Not looking at each other, but talking in low whispers, exchanging strange looking packages. She’d seen more inconspicuous drug deals in her years on a university campus. 

“Knew I’d say yes, then?”

He shrugged. “Hoped so.”

She smirked, but finished her drink in a single, long sip. Maybe  _ she _ needed a holiday. It was Spring Break, after all. 

The attentive bartender inclined his head and brought her another cocktail beside a glass of ice water when she nodded her head. 

When she had her fresh drink in front of her, she inclined her head toward the folded bundle he’d pushed toward her. “That what I think it is?”

The map was worn and frayed around the edges. It had been weathered even 10 years ago, when it had been tacked up in his studio apartment above the utilitarian table he used as a desk and a place to eat meals. Back then it had little pushpins in the places he’d always wanted to visit. 

He’d grown up poor. It had made him frugal and exceedingly cautious. He didn’t spend money on himself or things he wanted. Only things he needed. So it surprised her when she saw the map in his apartment for the first time. She knew what the pushpins meant, because it was something so many teenage girls did growing up. Herself included. She’d tacked a map of the world above her bed when she was thirteen, plotting out where she’d been so far (very few places), and where she’d one day venture (everywhere). 

Sometime around the time that he was moving out of his apartment, while they were packing his meager belongings into boxes and crates and smiling even though it felt like the end -- they had started scribbling on the map. She started with a green marker, making sure to circle all of the places he wanted to go as she removed the pins. 

_ He caught her as she did it, coming up behind her. _

_ “It’s fine, don’t worry about that. I’ll remember.” He sighed, pulling her away from the wall and letting the map sag at one corner. “Or I’ll never leave the Storm Lands. Just like I’ve never left King's Landing.”  _

_ It wasn’t completely true. He’d left the Crownlands a few times, but not many. And not to any of the places plotted out on his map, as far as she could tell. He’d spent the past three summers in Storms End, interning at the company he’d taken the job at. He wasn’t moving there completely blind. And he’d come with her and Jon and Sansa to Winterfell during the holidays that year, but that hadn’t been pinned on his map before they went.  _

_ When they got back, he’d added a red circle over the City of Winterfell, but she hadn’t realized until then that none of the other places on the map had been circled. There were only clear pins, no pins or marks to indicate where he’d been already. Just dreams. _

_ “We can go together,” she shrugged against him, leaning back into his chest as his arms circled around her waist. And her offer was genuine, because at nineteen she made promises offhandedly the way only young people could. Without knowing if they could be fulfilled, but believing sheer force of will could materialize the reality. “We could pick a place every summer, or over breaks or something.” _

_ “I’d like that. I just don’t know what my schedule will look like.” He used reason, because he never had and he never would make a promise to her he didn’t know if he could keep.  _

_ But noncommittal bullshit was a pet peeve of hers, and he knew it. He knew she wouldn’t accept that answer. He knew it would rile her up. She extracated herself from his arms and looked him dead in the eye while she brandished the uncapped green marker at him, pushing it into his neck in a threatening gesture. _

_ “What do we say to the God of Death, Gendry?” She challenged with a secretive smile, arching a lethal eyebrow. Because if growing up and getting a real job, starting his real life meant losing sight of his dreams, what would you call it but death?  _

_ He smiled, and pulled the marker away from his neck, leaving a long green streak across his pulse point. “Not Today.” _

_ That night they’d sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes and beer, the map on the wobbly coffee table he planned to throw in the trash at the end of the week, and they recreated his pins in green ink. She added some of her own in blue, and at some point late in the night, when they’d had too many beers and were sprawled on the floor after removing only a few layers of clothing, they’d started scribbling on eachothers’ skin in their respective colors.  _

_ He’d written  _ **NOT TODAY** _ beneath her left breast in messy green scrawl, and she’d doodled puffy lettered blue promises on his back that she wouldn’t let him read before they battled for dominance toward the shower, where they’d soaked their remaining clothing before throwing matted jeans around the shower curtain in to a sopping mess on the floor. _

Several years later, she’d gotten a tattoo under her left breast, in neat gray calligraphy, that spelled out  _ Not Today, _ and pretended that she didn’t remember when he’d scrubbed the green letters from her skin before ghosting his teeth across the same spot.

But they’d never plotted out places over breaks. Hadn’t even made the plans, really. She’d driven down to Storm’s End with him and Jon at the end of the week to move into his new place, a one bedroom flat that his company had offered to him at a discounted rate as a part of his contract. It was nice, and new, with giant windows looking out over Shipbreaker Bay. 

While they set up his new furniture and unpacked his books, she pulled out the folded map. It felt so foreign in this new flat. It felt out of place next to his sleek new furniture and the big windows and the smell of fresh paint. She thought it might have been the first time in his entire life he had anything brand new and shiny.

This place was his new life, and just as she’d never pressured him to label their relationship, she felt like tacking up that map again would be trapping him. Trapping him back in his old life, and trapping him to their promises. So she’d stuffed it between two thick leather books, checking to make sure it wasn’t too visible. There was only a small noticeable crevice between the two large books, and continued filling the bookshelves with textbooks she didn’t think he’d need anymore. Right beside the map.

They talked almost every day after that, but at some point it became every other day, and then only one a week. Eventually they only spoke on important days, when big life events popped up, or birthdays came around. It had been a slow transition, but even when the big moments rolled around, or he asked her how she was going to spend her summer or spring breaks, they never discussed the map. They never tried to make a plan to travel together like she’d promised. 

They’d never checked off any of his adventures together. She’d been on plenty alone, some with boyfriends, a few girlfriends or just friends, even a few with Sansa or Jon, but never with him. 

“How many places have you already been to?” She asked without touching the map between them. 

He still hadn’t looked directly at her, but he was swirling his glass as the ice disappeared into the amber liquid, and he quickly swallowed what was remaining in his glass. “Not many.”

She nodded, and she saw the bartender approach again with a refill, but this time he lingered.

“Not that I’m complaining about the company this early in the day, but what brings you to the Water Gardens?” 

She had been a bartender for a while, and she felt for the guy. He was probably a few years younger than her, with wide purple eyes and copper skin that was obviously happiest in the sun. And he looked happy, if a little bored. 

“Vacation. Spring Break,” she said 

“Oh, you’re a student?” He asked, eying her jeans and t-shirt. Her usual uniform. 

“Professor. PhD candidate, actually.”

“What in?” He looked like he could be a student, too. Maybe at the university in Sunspear.

“International policy. Economic development in the Free Cities.” 

“You’re young to be a professor, aren’t you?”

She laughed. “I’m older than I look. But you served me without asking for ID, so I guess that proves something.”

He gave a smile that was universal bartender etiquette when someone questioned an ID misstep. Hotel bars were always a little more lax with patrons, but she’d worked at a dingy dive bar near campus when she was in undergrad and grad school, so she hadn’t had the luxury of giving people the benefit of the doubt. 

“What about you?” He asked Gendry, who had been taking small sips from his glass, and staying out of the polite conversation. “You a professor too?”

He finished his drink faster than he should have, and the bartender set to grabbing the bottle behind the bar before he answered or asked. “Nope. Just passing through.”

“Oh, you don’t know each other?” He eyed the folded map between them, still untouched. Bartenders, always observant.

“Nope.”

“Old friends.” They said at the same time. And it stung. For him to say he didn’t know her. Because there was once a time when he knew her better than anyone in the world. And if he didn’t know her, then who did? 

The kid smiled, and nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” gesturing to a small group of incoming patrons, twenty-somethings obviously taking advantage of their Spring Break. “I’ll grab you another vodka soda in a sec.”

She nodded her thanks and waited for him to move away before saying anything. But when she did, it felt like she was vomiting. The way the words escaped her felt like her stomach was forcing them up her throat, and she had no control of how quickly or forcefully they escaped. But they had to. 

“This was a mistake.” 

And she wished she had a new drink now, something to do with her hands while she thought about how easy it would be to get the next flight back to King's Landing. Or maybe to Braavos. She could spend a few days in Braavos without anyone questioning it.

But she didn’t move to leave. She felt rooted to this place. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time. Rooted. 

“No it wasn’t.” He said resolutely, finally looking at her. Because he knew. If there was ever a thing that wasn’t a mistake, it was them. Whatever they were. Whenever they were.


	3. Someone You Loved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone mentioned in the comments that this was angsty, and that's truly not my intention. I think my writing style lends itself to feeling on edge, and I definitely have a tendency toward the dramatic, but I want this to be a testament to what first love feels like, how it changes you and shapes you, and what it's like to get a second stab at it. That can be a little angsty, overwhelming, and awkward, but there's something beautiful and light in it, as well. I hope that shows through in this chapter.
> 
> The title of this chapter is the Lewis Capaldi song. Check it out for some of the tempo of this chapter.

They left their bags at the reception desk, her gym duffel and his work satchel. He’d planned this, but he hadn’t packed either, she noted. 

They walked around the Water Gardens in companionable silence. The map in his back pocket. They still hadn’t opened it.

“I read your book,” he finally said, turning a corner around the wide and long pools of water set in the middle of the ancient castle that once served as a vacation home for the princes and princesses of Dorne. 

“Really? It was a little dense, wasn’t it?” Her hands trailed a hedge of some kind of tropical flower she couldn’t name. 

“It was, but it still sounded like you. Like all the times you told me about your classes. But…” He paused to search for the right words. “But it was like you were telling me about your adventures, too. Like you always said you would. But you were sitting in parliament instead of the pubs.”

“I sat in a lot of pubs, too.”

He smiled as they turned toward the path that led to the ocean. “You mentioned the brothels.”

She smirked. “Brothels are legal there, Gendry. Prostitution is the most historied profession that exists.”

“I think you mentioned that, as well.”

She’d written her book on the economic rise, decline, and rise again in the Free Cities. She’d known when she was writing it that it read more like the fanciful adventure of a place with a soul than academic research. Like she’d written the diary of a friend who was on a journey to find herself through turmoil. 

Her book was about how the Free Cities flourished and floundered, fought each other for dominance, and sometimes fell to ruin over the course of centuries long past. She told the stories of women in power, and those who fought for power -- not in the hallowed halls of great houses like they did in Westeros, but on battlefields and in the streets and sometimes even in brothels. 

She’d been surprised when her advisors had allowed her to publish it -- it was academic, it had all the proper sources, but more than anything it was her love letter to a time and a people that she admired. To the women who were scrappy and cunning and better fighters (both physically and mentally) than the men who sought to put them in their place. Women who slit the throats of corrupt men who paid them for sex, or women bravos that slaughtered entire armies in the streets to right wrongs.

It made her feel naked to know he’d read it -- but somehow proud, too. 

“You’d like the brothels. They’re kind of serene. But you’d blush just looking at the door.” Her sneakers were sinking in sand now, as they walked through thick brush toward the shore, and she bent to start unlacing them.

He unlaced his shoes, as well. “I’m not sure the last time I blushed, Arry. Men in their thirties don’t turn pink very easily.”

She smiled, but shrugged, and tied the laces of her shoes together so she could hang them across her left arm. No matter how old he got, she was sure he’d still turn a little pink if a woman wearing sheer, flimsy robes pressed her bare tits across his arm.

The sand got deeper, less dense, and it felt like she could burrow like a snake in the powder.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, over a few dunes and eventually she could see how far the sand stretched before it met the water.

“How is Sansa?” He asked sheepishly, when it seemed like he wasn’t sure what else to say. But she didn’t like that. Might have even preferred the silence. She didn’t like that he’d come up at a loss for things to talk to her about. 

It was one of the reasons why their calls had started getting shorter and longer in-between. They’d been out of eachothers’ lives too long, and the things that had once been so easy for them to share had been too far away. In time and distance. Even though, really, he wasn’t that far away.

In a way she blamed herself for that. She’d never been good at keeping up relationships with people who weren’t in her direct orbit. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a conversation via text with anyone outside her family, and those were mostly group chats that she could monitor for the right moment to jump in or answer a direct question.

So she thought it would be a good time to set some boundaries if they were really going to do this. Be together and do this. Whatever this would be.

“Can we place a moratorium on personal stuff for a while? Like work and family and stuff?” And it was a simple request. She didn’t have much to hide from him, but she didn’t want to hear about his job or if he was still with the girlfriend he’d moved in with a few years before -- Jeyne. She didn’t know her last name. Didn’t know much about her at all, really.

But she should have known he wouldn’t let it go that easily. What she didn’t expect was the sincerity. Even though she should have.

“I just want to know what your life is like now, Arya.” And he meant it. He even stopped moving toward the water, stationary like a ship that had dropped anchor.

She sighed and turned sideways, taking a seat on the sand so she could see him on one side, the ocean on the other, and face the sun hanging high in the sky -- they were still several yards from where the sand met the lapping waves. 

She considered her next words carefully. He was being transparent with her, in the way they always had been, and she wanted to offer the same in return. But she also didn’t want to sound like she was stuck in the past. Like she was afraid to hear about his love life or how wonderful his life was without her.

“It’s been so long. So much has happened. I can’t answer questions about Sansa without recounting an entire novel’s worth of information.”

When he’d considered her words and found them to be truthful and acceptable, he sat across from her, his back to the sun and his shoes thrown to the side. “I know some of it. Jon told me.”

And she hadn’t really considered that before. That Jon and Gendry still kept in touch, and he probably knew more about her life than she did his. She knew that they still spoke, Jon had taken a call from him the last time he visited King’s Landing from The Wall. He’d walked outside the bar to take the call, and he’d told her Gendry said hello when he came back inside. But she’d never given it much thought. She’d asked that night, and on a few other occasions, how Gendry was doing, but the responses had always been vague and generic. 

“What has he told you about me?”

“Not much. That you were living the life you always wanted. That you were happy.”

She smiled, genuine and with squinty eyes as the sun pierced her retinas. “I am.” And she was. It was true. And she supposed she wanted to tell him about that.

And suddenly she could feel her defensive posture softening. The tension seeming to fall away. She wasn’t sure why, but she suddenly didn’t feel like he was interrogating her anymore. And maybe he never had been. He’d just been asking. 

“I’m glad.” He nodded, and returned her smile.

She put her hands in the sand behind her back, stretching out her bare feet in front of her, and reclined contentedly. She would always be a winter child, a Saggitarius and a centaur roaming free in the snowy wolfswood. But there was something about sand and sun and the smell of salt in the air that filled her with calm. “I’ll give you five question. What do you want to know?”

“Why does it have to be a game?” He asked with a quirked eyebrow. And she almost swooned. Even though she could see how the years had changed his face, that eyebrow, the quirk and the small scar that ran through it, was all young Gendry. He’d told her once that boys in their teens would spend hours in front of the mirror practicing those small facial expressions. She’d asked him to show her the ones he’d practiced while they sat on her fire escape smoking nearly an entire pack of cigarettes between them and giving names to constellations they couldn’t name (all of them).

“Because I get to ask five questions, too.”

“I think that’s the definition of a game.”

She shrugged. “Well then do you wanna play a game with me?”

He was playing with sand around his feet, knees pulled up to his chest, digging little fissures and watching them fill when his hand moved away. But the small smile hadn’t left his face. Apparently he wasn’t feeling tense anymore, either. “So what then, we’re just gonna be quiet for the rest of the trip?”

“No, we’ll just learn how we are now. We’ll get the big shit out of the way then move on and just have fun. I’m a great travel companion, Gendry.” Her toes were sinking into the sand, and she wished she wasn’t wearing jeans.

“I would accept no less.”

She winked at him, whether he saw it or not. “Figured that’s why I was your first call,” she joked.

“Among many other reasons.” And she wondered if she should use her first question to ask him what those other reasons were. 

“So get going. This is gonna be rapid fire, then we’re going to find a place to buy bathing suits.”

He cringed, but didn’t protest. He’d learned how to swim the year they’d been at university together. She’d encouraged him to learn, and even taught him a little when the lessons at the community center full of kids made him feel self conscious. 

“Ok, you can start. You’re making me nervous.”

She didn’t know where to start, so she went simple. And utilitarian. “Can you swim now?” She needed to know what kind of water sports she could plan on for the day. She was itching to get in the water.

He gave her a disparaging look, the kind of looks one of her brothers would have given her if she were teasing them around someone they wanted to impress.

“Yes.” No room for additional questioning, but his defensiveness made her skeptical. “How was living with Theon?”

She couldn’t help the belly laugh that escaped her. She had moved in with Theon and Sam after she finished her Masters and was starting on her PhD. That had been around the time she and Gendry had grown the furthest apart, after she’d chosen to stay in King's Landing with Professor Forel instead of transferring to another university. 

“It was… Honestly, great.” She considered how to describe that year. “I mean, you know how that house was. It hadn’t changed much, really. Gilly moved in, and I have no idea why she wanted to live with those assholes, but she made it really homey, y’know? But it was also still trying to be a party house. I only stayed for the year, and even then I wasn’t there a ton. I had to be in the library working on my research a lot.” 

She had burrowed her feet into the sand up to the ankle, tipping her toes up into the sun from under the cover, and he watched her do it as he listened to her talk about one of the strangest years of her life. 

“You know Theon, he’s insane but well-intentioned. He decided at some point that he would rebrand their ragers into ‘salons’ -- maybe Sansa had something to do with that, but she didn’t come ‘round very often.” She didn't explain why Sansa didn’t come around very often during that year. He knew that part, but he looked confused, so she went on. “Basically people would bring their favorite stories or poems or something and they’d talk about them or play charades or something. I think there was mention of the Gilded Age, but I didn’t question it too much. It always ended in beer pong or some kind of complicated drinking game.”

He tossed his head back and laughed. “Leave it to Theon to decide his adult frat parties should be refined.”

She shrugged and held up her hands in the way she always did if someone asked her to explain or understand Theon Greyjoy. 

Setting a rapid pace, even after her long answer, she asked the only question she really wanted an answer to. “Why’d you text _‘RUN’_ last night?”

He screwed up his lips, working through the right words. “I guess it just felt like time, y’know? I’ve spent so long in Storm’s End, and when I found the map a few months ago I just started to feel restless. Like I was missing out on something, y’know?”

She nodded and smiled. It was a good answer. “There’s a wide world out there, Gendry. And you deserve to see it.”

“Then why’d you choose to stay in King’s Landing?”

She could have guessed that one was coming.

Nearly four years ago she had an offer to study at the House of Black and White in Braavos, one of the most prestigious academic programs in the world. It was common to hear political candidates name drop the program as a credential for their candidacy. But she didn't want to be a politician, and even though she’d spent more time than she expected in Braavos, she hadn’t been ready to make the permanent move.

She’d also been offered a scholarship to the University of Storms End to study for her PhD. There was a professor in the history department named Brienne de Tarth who had taken an interest in her research while she was still writing her Masters thesis, but even though she kept in touch with Professor Tarth, the university wasn't able to offer her the opportunities the better-connected and funded King’s Landing international relations department had been able to. 

“Lots of reasons, I guess. KL offered me more practical research placements in the Free Cities. They had all these partnerships with universities across the Narrow Sea and they promised me visiting professorships, too. But the biggest reason was probably Dr. Forel. He was my favorite professor in undergrad, and my advisor for my masters thesis, and he just got me, y’know?”

But even though she had tried to not factor it into her final decision, and had definitely not written it on her pro/con list -- Gendry and Jeyne had been getting serious around the time she was making her decision. They hadn’t moved in together yet, but they did a few months later.

She wanted to take a similarly probing tact, but couldn’t really think of another question she really wanted the answer to. And she felt a little exposed by his probing. She was sure she’d thought of a million questions she wanted to ask him over the years, but not a single question came to mind in the moment.

“Do you still smoke?” She asked.

He laughed, but inclined his head in a shrug. “Sometimes.”

“Good, I bought a carton at the duty free.”

“So I take it you still smoke?”

She nodded and echoed, “Sometimes.” And added, without thinking too much on it, “Do you like Storm’s End?”

“Well enough. I’m settled. I like my job, and they’ve treated me well. I have friends, a favorite pub, the girl at the coffee shop knows my name. The simple stuff is all there. I call it home, but I don’t know if it really feels like home, y’know?” 

She nodded again. Because she knew that feeling very well. She had lived such a nomadic lifestyle over the past few years that she often felt the same way. The difference was that she always knew Winterfell would be home. She’d always have it to go back to. But Gendry didn’t have a lot to tie him back to King's Landing if he didn’t want to. If King’s Landing wasn’t home, and Storm’s End wasn’t home, where was? 

But he moved on quickly, keeping up her pace in the game, and didn’t even flinch when he asked, “Are you seeing anyone?”

And she was surprised that it didn’t make her feel awkward. “No really,” she answered truthfully. But she supposed it was a little complicated. 

He caught the greyness in her answer to the black or white question. “What does that mean?”

“Is that your final question?”

“No, it’s a follow-up.”

“No follow-ups.”

“So that’s a ‘yes’, then.” He didn’t ask. 

“No, it’s a ‘not really’,” she reiterated. But since he’d asked, she felt like it would be too noticeable to not reciprocate. So she threw away her final turn and asked the question she really didn’t want to know the answer to. “Are you still with Jeyne?” And then she rethought the phrasing. “Or anyone else?”

“No. Jeyne moved out a few months ago. Almost a year ago. Haven’t really dated since.”

She was surprised to hear that. Surprised because she thought Jon might have told her that. If they’d broken up, it was a big life event, and the big stuff was usually what he’d pass along, even if he was vague on the details. And she wondered why he hadn’t told her. “So you lived together for like three years?”

“You’re outta questions,” He shot back quickly, smirking at his victory. 

She sighed, but smiled, too. 

He’d been fast with his previous question, as if he had a list ready. But his final question made him pause, like he were deciding which of the questions from the list were most important.

When he finally spit it out, with a handful of sand in his fist, he caught her eye for just a second. And his final question surprised her. “Did you hide it? The map? Between the books?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” He just sounded interested. Not upset or relieved or even confused. So she allowed him the follow-up. As a treat.

She shrugged, because of all the things she wondered about doing wrong after Gendry moved away, hiding the map had never been one of them. “It wouldn’t have looked right on a wall in your place.”

He didn’t respond, but she could feel something stoking a fire between them. Something he wasn’t saying. Something that would shape their time together. Something important. Something he wasn’t ready to say yet. And his five questions were all used up.

***

_The day she moved into Jon’s apartment had been strangely overcast. It was unusual for King’s Landing in August._

_Theon had moved out the day before to join a house of guys he knew from undergrad who had all graduated and accepted jobs in the city. Jon had been invited to join the house, but she wasn’t sure if he declined because he knew the house would turn into a party house or because he wanted to live with her. Or maybe he just wanted to save her from living with Sansa or in the dodgy dorms._

_They had all been afraid that might happen. Their mother had encouraged Arya and Sansa to live together, hoping it would finally bond them in the way she was bonded to her own sister. But Sansa wanted to live with Margery, and Arya wanted to live anywhere that Sansa would not be. It would take a few months, or maybe even a few years before they forged an adult relationship that would make them close. The kind of siblings her mother had always wanted them to be._

_Catelyn had only been alive for a brief while to see it, though. She died in Arya’s fourth year of university._

_When Jon pulled the moving van to the curb she saw a big guy with black hair sitting on the front steps. He was reading a book that was too small to be a textbook and had a big pair of headphones over his ears._

_It had been a long drive from Winterfell. They’d driven for two days straight, and only stopped once, at a dodgy motel that their parents wouldn’t have approved of, to sleep for a few hours before finding their way into the city in the late afternoon._

_She’d been introduced to Gendry on the street, when he took his headphones from his ears and wrapped them around his neck instead._

_It seemed so simple in retrospect. Their first introduction. He said hello, helped to prop open the doors of the van and the front door of the apartment building, but didn’t say much else._

_“He’s just like that,” Jon had said as an excuse for his quiet friend. But she didn’t care that much._

_By the time Theon arrived with a few of his roommates a half hour later, they were able to unload the van in only two more trips. And then the apartment had gotten a lot louder._

_Theon had brought over a case of beer and a card game she didn’t know, but after standing in her room surrounded by boxes for just a few minutes, she’d decided to join them around the coffee table to drink a beer and try to be friendly. She’d at least try._

_Pyp and Grenn and Sam were nice. Each with different personalities that intimidated her a little — just so very different from the people she’d left in the North. So eventually she’d escaped, claiming she was going to take a phone call outside. Drunk Theon roared in laughter about a nonexistent boyfriend she’d left in the North, and Jon rolled his eyes while gesturing her toward the door. He knew she was overwhelmed by the boisterous gathering. There was a time he would have been, too._

_She found herself crouched on the front steps, in the same position she’d first seen Gendry, texting her friend Lyanna, when Gendry himself walked out a few minutes later._

_He was pounding a pack of cigarettes on his palm when he noticed her on the steps without her phone to her ear._

_“Quick call with the boyfriend,” he said offhandedly, by way of greeting._

_“No boyfriend, just loud in there.” She shrugged. He shrugged back but didn’t respond, so she prodded. “Are they always like that?”_

_He nodded and stood beside her on the steps, leaning against a pillar while she sat and he dug in his pockets._

_“Are you always this quiet?”_

_He nodded, but spoke when he found the lighter he’d been fishing for. “And you don’t even know me yet,” he said through a laugh._

_“Don’t need to. You’re a surly asshole, aren’t you?” She prodded, only half kidding._

_He shrugged and offered her a cigarette from his open pack. She took one, even though she’d never really smoked before._

_He lit his cigarette then handed her the white lighter._

_“You know white lighters are bad luck, right?”_

_“I thought it was black lighters?” He asked on an exhale, like he didn’t care much about the conversation. Which he probably didn’t._

_She shrugged. “Never heard that before.” She had to flick her thumb a few times before she caught the mechanism properly, and had to attempt inhaling a few times more before she felt her mouth fill with smoke. “It’s something about a bunch of musicians that died with white lighters in their pockets.”_

_“Only counts when you’re 27. They were all 27. But I’m pretty sure it was a black lighter.”_

_She let loose a gruff cough of a laugh, and smoke filled the space between them._

_“I might have heard that at some point,” she conceded. And she had. At some point when she was smoking weed in Micah’s garage, she’d heard that part of the superstition, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I don't sound thirsty, but the comments y'all are leaving literally fuel me to write, and I adore them. Thank you to everyone who has left kudos or comments, and please consider dropping me a line if you're enjoying this. Like I mentioned in the first chapter, I haven't written for fun in awhile, so I'm getting over some insecurities about whether or not this whole thing sucks, haha


	4. In the Cold, Cold Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is a White Stripes song. Check it out for some of the tempo of this chapter.

They’d found where to buy swimsuits and a lunch they could take with them, and spent the day on the beach. 

As she danced across the waves, it felt so natural to be there with him. He watched her and played her games, no matter how much he claimed to malign them. They built an expansive sand castle, and he used that engineering background to ensure it was as wide, tall, and gravity-defying as possible. She insisted on a moat, and even though he’d questioned the decision based on a threat to the architectural integrity of the thing, he still walked back and forth from the waves to their holdfast to fill up a plastic water bottle.

They kept up a steady stream of conversation about nothing at all. But somewhere in between the swaths of nothing, she was starting to notice the little tidbits of a Gendry she didn’t know. It had been years, after all, but it shocked her that he hadn’t stayed frozen in time. And she wondered if she had. 

He was less quiet now. Still thoughtful, choosing his words carefully, but he laughed and spoke a little freer than he once had. There was something inspiring about that. When they were younger she sometimes felt like she had to push or pull words out of him, even though he had been more open with her than anyone else back then. 

But on the beach, after their original awkwardness had passed, they were able to fall into an easy back-and-forth. They talked about beaches and whales and fishing, they talked about sun cancer and factor 50, he talked about a motorcycle he’d been fixing up and she talked about kickboxing and fighting with swords against guys twice her size. And through it all, he smiled easily. 

And then she started to notice how his body had changed. He stood straighter and more confidently, with his hands on his hips instead of fidgeting in front of him or stuffed in his pockets. He had an intricate, geometric tattoo stretched across his shoulder blades and over his left shoulder. A charging bull locking horns with a magnificent stag. The lines of the bull were in technicolor, and the stag in deep black. She could tell it was new. Not new enough to still have the bandages, but he asked her to apply sunscreen to his back so he knew for sure that it was covered. Then they started talking about tattoos and she pointed out some of her own that were visible in the one-piece swimsuit.

On the way back to the hotel he was telling the story of when he’d attempted to surf in the shallows of Shipbreaker Bay and almost drowned. 

“I thought you said you can swim?” She goaded him with an arched eyebrow and a teasing smile. 

He huffed and adjusted the towel around his shoulders. “I  _ can _ ,” he insisted. “What I can’t do is surf on the same waters that used to kill experienced fishermen and pirates. Beric talked me into it and it was stupid.”

She didn't know him to be easily talked into things, but she supposed maybe that was something new, too. 

When they approached the reception desk, a pretty girl with hair delicately braided and twisted on her head smiled widely. “Welcome to The Water Gardens, how can I help you?”

“Just a room for tonight,” he said without taking his eyes off Arya. She wasn’t sure what exactly he was asking, but she nodded. 

“Wonderful,” the receptionist said as she began typing on the high tech system behind the counter. “We have double rooms available facing the ocean, and a Martell Suite with --”

Arya cut her off. “Ocean view would be great.” 

Double beds. For sure. Right?  _ Right _ . 

“Wonderful, can I take a card for the room?” She asked without looking up from her screen. 

Gendry handed over a credit card before she could even reach for her pocket. She looked at him with a quirked brow, but he just shrugged.

The moment they walked into the pale and luxurious room, she threw her gym bag onto the bed nearer the door and quickly curled up in an armchair beside a large picture window and started scrolling through her phone, telling him to take a shower first. 

Edric texted her while Gendry was taking a shower and she was catching up on emails from students concerned about their midterm grades.

**_Edric:_ ** hey, want to grab a drink tonight?

She’d never really called him Ned, even though everyone else did. It was weird to call a guy she’d slept with by her fathers’ name. 

**_Arya:_ ** can’t, I’m in Dorne

**_Edric:_ ** working? 

He knew she wasn’t working. Or he should. There was no reason why her work would bring her to Dorne. But she often wondered if he paid enough attention to know that.

But she wasn't going to lie. Or even selectively exclude. It wasn't really the relationship she and Edric had. 

**_Arya:_ ** traveling with gendry over spring break

Her phone tried to auto-correct “Gendry” to “gentry”, and it reminded her to add his name to her contacts.

Edric took a while to answer, as she’d expected he might, and Gendry had come back into the room from the bathroom by the time her phone vibrated again. He was wearing low-slung jeans again, no shirt, and he smelled of the generic but expensive herbal soap that nice hotels always kept in stock. 

**_Edric:_ ** I didn’t realize you guys stayed in touch. Tell him I said hello

There wasn’t a reason to respond, really. And he wouldn’t be bothered, but the conversation struck her. His final response, at least. 

There wasn’t much to their relationship, really. They’d never really started “dating” per se, they just hung out sometimes when they both needed companionship. When they were bored or lonely. Sometimes it was physical, and sometimes it was as simple as wanting to try a new restaurant when all their other friends were busy, or seeing a movie that had been out for too long and everyone else had already seen. 

They hadn’t met up in a few months. She was busy, she’d been traveling and then working. And he was busy, too. He was helping to run his father’s business, traveling between King’s Landing and his parents’ estate in Starfall. 

She took a quick shower, rinsing out her stringy hair and combing it with the tips of her fingers. It wasn't elegant, but it would do. She’d certainly done worse during trips into the field. 

They decided on the restaurant bar on the beach for dinner. It was the mid-range restaurant at the hotel -- not lit with candles or backlit the strumming of old world romance ballads of the time of the Martell’s like the multi-Michelin Star restaurant on the East Wing. The place was filled with almost-adults on vacation -- Spring Breakers getting loud but not belligerent, just happy to be away from their normal selves for a little while, and drinking more than they should. 

She could relate. And maybe he could too. 

They spent their dinner and the time it took to drink an entire bottle of wine to plot out the things they wanted to see in Dorne the next day. He wanted to go to a few museums, and since she’d been to Dorne before, she suggested a short excursion to the Tower of Joy. 

It was assumed that they’d leave Sunspear together, but they didn’t talk about where they’d go. They’d left the map in the hotel room, and when they got back she spread it open on the square table near the window and studied the green and blue points they’d plotted in a past life. 

He stood beside her, and asked about the places she’d been before and what she’d liked. Where her favorite places were.

Her favorite places in Westeros were still in the North -- Beyond the Wall, even. But they knew they didn’t have enough time for that. 

She’d promised him long ago that she’d take him there, but she’d only ever got him as far north as Winterfell. Somehow she felt even more determined to take him to The Wall now, as they stood over the map in Dorne. She felt like she owed it to him. But even more than that, she felt like he had to see why she and Jon felt so at home when the moon reflected on the ice of Castle Black, and under the frosty leaves of the Haunted Forest, or when strapping snowshoes to heavy boots in the shadows of the Frost Fangs. He just needed to see it, experience it. 

“I’ve never made it up there to see Jon,” he mentioned offhandedly, even though he could have been answering a question she never spoke aloud. 

“Have you met Ygritte?” She asked, while tracing the small green circle around Castle Black with the tip of her finger.

“Yeah, she came to Storm’s End last time Jon visited,” and he was laughing slightly around his words. Because that’s the kind of reaction Ygritte brought out in most people. She was a force to be reckoned with -- strong and funny and fierce. The perfect match to Jon’s quiet 

There was once a time that Arya had compared every relationship to her parents’. She’d done it when each of her siblings found long term partners, and even more when she’d been in relationships of her own she thought might be important. But Jon and Ygritte were the only couple that really set themselves apart from the litmus test. All of her siblings had found partners that created balance and serenity in their lives -- eventually, at least. But Jon and Ygritte were chaos. They fought and teased and brought each other to the edge of insanity -- all in the name of love, somehow. 

“Don’t tell anyone, but she’s my favorite sister-in-law.” Even though Jon and Ygritte weren’t married.

He laughed again, and fell into the chair beside the table, twirling his phone in his hands without thinking too much about it. “I doubt that’s a secret to anyone.”

She shrugged and captured his eye in a challenging glare. “I don’t know, I try not to play favorites.”

He shook his head and slouched into the armchair even further, legs flung wide and long in front of him. Comfortable in teasing her. “That’s a crock and you know it. Jon’s always been your favorite.”

She shrugged again and walked over to her gym bag, still on the bed nearest the door. “Want a smoke?” She pulled out the long box and started unwrapping the carton and pulling out one of the packs inside. 

He slapped his thighs and leaned heavily on his palms like a man determined. “Yeah, I really do.”

She eyed his stance, somehow so very relaxed but still tense -- his shoulders scrunched in this position, but his eyes so clear and unguarded. “Don’t sound so traumatized by whatever I’ve put you through. You’ll make me wonder if I’m as interesting as I think I am.”

His forehead scrunched a little, and the smile he’d been half-suppressing all night became a little more apparent. “I don’t think you’ll ever not be one of the most interesting people I’ve ever encountered, Arya Stark.” 

And now his eyes were challenging, too. Something he rarely allowed to show -- he’d tease her, he’d prod her, he’d ask her inane questions and get her hackles up about something neither of them really cared about -- but a challenge between them was usually supplied by her. And she realized even after over 12 hours together, she was still finding new things -- little things, and maybe big things too. Things that weren’t familiar, but that excited her. 

He wasn’t flirting, even though there had been a subtle undercurrent of flirtation in everything they’d done and said all day, this wasn’t flirting. This was honest -- and he was challenging her to correct him. Challenging her to find the lie. Challenging her to just accept his words at face value. 

And she did. 

***

In the museum the next day, they wandered around without purpose or pretense. Sometimes they would stand side-by-side to appreciate a particularly intricate painting of a nobel, and sometimes they would wander to different sides of the same gallery to inspect something more closely. Sometimes one or both of them would wander into adjoining rooms, but they’d always return. 

It was companionable but independent. Solitary and respectful, but no matter what they never really lost each other in the maze of rooms. It was like they were tethered together by invisible strings, and they could follow the trail backwards or forwards when they’d wandered out of sight. 

He liked the modernist renderings of deeply existential feeling, thoughts hidden in abstract geometric shapes. She liked realistic portrayals of historical figures and architecture, rich and sandy colors bringing life to canvas. But sometimes he’d stand over her shoulder, directly behind her, with hands in his pockets like he used to -- and he’d see things the way she did. He’d make a comment about the strong but feminine portrayal of a warrior woman, or the way a lady of court wore a weapon on her belt and a dainty smile -- and he’d ask her about the history of the work, knowing that she knew. 

They wandered for hours, through a maze of rooms that circled in and out of one another before they found their way to the museum gift shop, and they both bought a few postcards. He didn’t know, but she’d been collecting postcards for years. She had a large box on the floor of her closet where she kept the framed mementos -- but she’d never hung them. They sat in frames so they wouldn’t wrinkle or tear, but she’d never really lived or stayed anywhere long enough to take the time to put nails and art in the walls. 

And so they went to three museums in total, traveling into Sunspear -- the same routine each time. They’d rented a car and drove around to find the best food and make sure they could reach all of the museums Gendry had put at the top of his list. There were more museums in Sunspear than anyone had patience for, so when they left the third they decided on a nice cafe with an outdoor patio when it started getting dark. 

They didn’t even take the map out, they’d already decided where they were going next. Arya wanted to see the Tower of Joy. She’d heard stories of it’s sordid history, of dragons and wolves and Targaryens and Starks long ago. 

So after a quick but leisurely early dinner, they got back in the car and headed west, then north, and west again. Eventually they hit mountains, and they stopped at a beautiful inn on a mountain road. They slept in separate beds again, but neither seemed to want to mention it. 

They were on their way. And she couldn’t help but wonder when they were looking out on the dark cliffs around The Tor if he’d start marking off places on his map. But even though their easy conversation didn’t let up for the several hours they drove, she didn’t ask for some reason.

Would he pull out a marker and slice through circles like bold check marks at some point while they were in the car? Would he trace over the green circles in a different color to indicate a mission accomplished once he was back home in Storm’s End? Would he put the map back on his wall and push pins into it? She wasn’t sure why she wanted to know, but she was curious. 

So later that night, when they were sitting on the small balcony of their hotel room, a glass tumbler between them serving as an ashtray, she was about to ask when his phone started ringing. It lit up on the table between them, flashing the name  _ Mya  _ brightly in the dim light. And even when he came back outside after talking to  _ Mya _ for a few minutes in hushed, tender tones, she didn’t ask. 

She couldn’t get the bright flashing light of his phone’s screen to dull when she closed her eyes. And it made her feel claustrophobic for the first time in days.

***

_ It was the end of midterms, and there was a bank holiday on Monday, but overall it was a pretty typical Friday night when they finally broached the subject.  _

_ It had become pretty apparent to her that there was… something. She wasn’t sure what. She’d only ever kissed a few boys before. And she’d certainly never had to work hard for boys to like her. But Gendry wasn't a boy. He was a man grown in every way she could think of. He lived alone, paid his own bills, always had fun but never got too drunk or crazy on a night out.  _

_ She’d spent a few nights alone in bed wondering if he was out of her league, or if she had conjured up something that wasn't actually there. But then he’d pull her aside like he did that night, and she knew she couldn’t be imagining it.  _

_ He’d tapped her shoulder after she’d kicked Meera’s ass in darts, inclining his head toward the door. She’d nodded, taking a sip through the foam of her new beer before setting it on the corner of the table Jon and Pyp were camped out at. They were subdued compared to everyone else, but maybe they were piss drunk, too. She couldn’t tell.  _

_ Gendry led her out the front door of the pub, offering her a cigarette even though he knew she kept a pack in her bag now. She’d started smoking when she was stressed or drinking or just bored. Sansa didn’t approve, but Jon didn’t care as long as she closed the window and cleaned the butts off the fire escape when she was done.  _

_ She took one from his pack, but used her own lighter from the breast pocket of the flannel she wore over her cropped t-shirt. The lighter was black. He wouldn’t use it, she knew. Bad luck. _

_ He pressed his shoulder blades against the brick wall in the alley around the corner from the front door of the pub, hunched over in the way young men could be when they still weren’t sure how to wear their own skin. He hung his head and took a long drag from his cigarette before speaking, knowing she’d circle around him like she was pulled into his orbit. She always was. But he was always in hers, too, so she didn’t think much of it. _

_ “It’s too much in there when they’re like this.” And it was true, everyone was on a high after midterms. Drinking too much, a few people actually high on too many bong rips after a pregame at Theon’s.  _

_ A few of their friends had come out to smoke not too long ago, and she’d joined them, passing around her pack to the ones who didn’t usually smoke -- but it had been very different from this. Being outside with him made her calm and nervous and her stomach feel tight with anticipation, even though she’d lost track of how many beers she’d had since arriving at the bar. Theon had stolen her glass a few times while he was playing pool, and even though he’d replace them in-between games, she’d lost track of how much she’d actually had to drink.  _

_ “Yeah, they’re excited.” _

_ “They’re manic,” he laughed, but he still looked tense and he pulled more smoke into his mouth.  _

_ “Weren’t you ever young and carefree, old man? Just trying to lose sight of things for a little while?” She teased, because she’d actually wanted to know for a long time. _

_ He shrugged, and it made him straighten his shoulders against the wall, but he still wasn’t quite looking at her. “No, not really.”  _

_ She wasn’t surprised, but asked, “Why?” _

_ He was looking anywhere but her now, looking to the street at the end of the alley, watching a car or two pass under the dim street lamps. “Never really had the chance.” And she remembered Jon mentioning that Gendry didn’t have any family, no one to rely on but a foster parent he’d stayed close to. She couldn’t imagine what that would be like. She relied so much on her family, loved them so much, trusted them more than anything. _

_ “You’ve always had to be the adult in the room?” She guessed, her thumb tracing the edge of her lip as she studied him. He was always the designated driver, always at the library when everyone else was drunk, and always the one to make sure doors were locked and painkillers were on her bedside table when she woke up with a hangover. Always keeping a level head, always in control, always taking care of someone else. _

_ “Not always, but I’ve had to take care of myself.” And he seemed to consider what he would say for a moment. Trying to decide if he would say more. After looking from side to side and another puff, he did. “And sometimes other people, too.”  _

_ She wanted to ask more, about what he meant and who, but she kind of knew, and the answers wouldn’t feel right like this. So she tried to move to teasing again. “Never got piss drunk and made a mistake with a girl you shouldn’t have?” _

_ He scoffed, inhaling smoke and talking on the exhale. “I don’t really date, Arya.” _

_ She raised an eyebrow, even though he still hadn’t looked at her. “I didn’t ask about dating.” _

_ He barked a derisive laugh that echoed in the empty space around them. “I don’t do much fucking around, either.” _

_ “Ever?” She stubbed her cigarette butt with the toe of her boot, emphasizing the single word. The question, and the answer, made her a little on edge. _

_ He smiled, but still not at her. “Maybe a few times,” and stubbed his own cigarette on the bricks beside his hip. _

_ And maybe because he wasn’t looking at her, or maybe because they’d gotten so close to the thing they’d been circling around for so many weeks now, she didn’t hold back the question she really wanted to ask next. _

_ “Is that why you won’t kiss me?” _

_ He finally looked up from under the shaggy fringe that had grown out since she met him, and his eyes were that shy version of not actually surprised. But he wasn’t that shy, really. He didn’t move away when people were around -- he just didn’t engage. He didn’t mind talking, he just didn’t talk to that many people. He wouldn't be friends with Jon or Theon if he were shy. He wouldn't be how he was with her if he were shy. He wouldn’t have asked her to come outside with him in front of all those people if he were shy. Because they both knew people saw, and they both knew people were talking.  _

_ She could tell he wasn’t faking demure only because the corner of his mouth turned up in a very subtle smirk. A twinkle to his eyes that said he was waiting for that exact question. Waiting for her to ask it. Even though there was something in his eyes, something about the way his fringe fell that told her he never would have mentioned it himself. _

_ So typical for a man -- to be that confident in this moment. So confident it would happen, and so confident she’d be the one to say something. So privileged, to wait for it, without pressure or hastiness.  _

_ “No, that’s not why.” _

_ And then she finally felt quelled. Like he was fanning the flames of the forge that fueled her confidence.  _

_ She forced out a rough but breathy, “Ha,” that couldn’t really be considered a laugh. She tried to make sure her face didn’t show it, but all the air had left her lungs, and her eyes couldn’t leave the crack in the pavement where her cigarette had fallen.  _

_ And he stared at her. But he waited. And she waited. And then he lit another cigarette in the silence that stretched between them and only after he’d taken a deep lungful of nicotine did he decide to break the stalemate. Because he knew he had to. She wouldn’t -- and he wouldn’t challenge her that way. _

_ “That’s not why. There are a lot of reasons why, though.” _

_ And she knew she was supposed to pressure him to explain. That’s what any of her friends would tell her to do. Be cute about it. Make your intentions known. Ask why and flash a come-hither smile. Sansa would have been proud if she did that. _

_ But she wouldn’t do any of those things. She’d already made her intentions clear. It was his turn. So she stayed silent. Waiting. But the very corner of her lips caught a feral smile she couldn’t suppress, and she looked up, silently. Waiting. Because he’d admitted he’d thought about it. A lot, even.  _

_ She didn’t catch his eyes, but she stared at the rim of the glasses he only wore when he was meeting them after the library. Midterms were over, but he seemed to always be coming from the library. _

_ And there was something about how his glasses had slid down his nose while he hung his head that made words fall from her mouth, moving toward him and reaching for the pack still in his hands.  _

_ “I guess there are a few,” she conceded, just barely touching the palm of his hand. But now he was close. Close enough that she could smell the soap and cologne that couldn’t completely mask the smell of motor oil that stuck to some of his oldest t-shirts.  _

_ “It’s a bad idea, Arya.” But he was watching her mouth when she balanced the yellow filter between her lips, and his eyes danced as the flame caught on her lighter, and he licked his lips when she came even closer to snag the seam of his front pocket with the corner of the pack to try to force it back where it had come from. _

_ And while she was close, with stale smoke they’d both already exhaled and the hands holding their lit cigarettes out to her left, she looked directly in his eyes. Because if he could be direct, so could she. But she also wasn’t quite sure how far she could take it. _

_ “I know.” And she did. There were a lot of reasons. Jon. He was leaving. He was older. She was younger. Or maybe she was just young. But she’d never wanted someone like she wanted him, and it made her reckless. Recklessness didn’t suit her. It could be too fun. She’d stopped being reckless when she was 16 and had a close call on the back of a motorcycle while not wearing a helmet. But this kind of recklessness made her whole body hum. Even though she knew better than to be reckless.  _

_ He nodded. And even though he’s been trying to tell her, he looked a little disappointed that she’d agreed. _

_ She knew a few of the reasons. But she didn’t know how many of hers were the same as his. Maybe all of them. Maybe none. Would Jon even care? If he was standing this close, did he really care that he was so much older? Was the age difference really that bad?  _

_ “So why are you still looking at me like that?” She asked. _

_ “Like what?” _

_ “Like I’ve offered you a challenge.” _

_ He laughed, and smiled in the way he only seemed to do when they were alone. Some kind of secret smile he kept for her. A happy, unguarded smile. But they were alone so rarely. “Haven’t you?” _

_ She shrugged, and she turned her head away from him to look toward the street and inhale a little nicotine courage to mix with the beer that was sitting heavily in her stomach, urging her on.  _

_ “Maybe,” she conceded. _

_ He turned his head away from her, too -- facing the dumpsters further down the alley. But he didn’t back away, he couldn’t. He was trapped between her body and the brick wall, and she hadn’t decided if she’d back away anytime soon. But when he spoke again , she certainly didn’t want to. _

_ “I don’t know if I’ve ever backed down from a challenge.”  _

_ And she admired him for that.  _ Liked _ him for that. They were similar that way. She’d never backed down from a challenge, either. Her family shook their heads in dismay about it sometimes. They were happy when she’d stopped being reckless -- but she’d always be fearless.  _

_ His free hand came to rest on her hip, his calloused thumb lightly touching the tender skin of her stomach just above her right hip bone.  _

_ It shocked her, and she couldn’t help it. Her muscles jumped and her breath caught and a small wheezing moan fell from her mouth before her lungs seized with surprise and lack of oxygen. She coughed, deep and clenched. It wasn't a cute sound, but it made his eyes jump from her where his skin touched hers, searching her eyes.  _

_ Her breathing was shallow, and she had no idea that such a soft, innocent touch could do something like that to her. It felt like his hands were everywhere and nowhere all at once. Like he was touching her too much and not at all.  _

_ But when his lips touched a soft spot on her neck, when he leaned down just a little more than his bent posture already allowed, he was all around her. Everywhere. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! This story hits a lot of very personal emotions for me. Many of the scenes and feelings (some that you've seen, and some that you haven't yet) are based at least in-part on experiences and relationships of my own, so sometimes it's harder to get down on paper than I imagined it would be. 
> 
> Your comments, suggestions, and questions plant seeds of inspiration and I like to see them grow.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please drop me a line about what you think.


	5. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the longest chapter yet, but I had a request for them to sleep in the same bed...?
> 
> The title of this chapter is the Taylor Swift song. Check it out for some of the tempo of this chapter.

_In her second year of university she threw herself into her studies. After feeling a bit directionless in her first year, she was starting to hone in on what she wanted to actually do. Jon and Sansa and her parents were excited but confused. No one really knew what she was going to do with a joint degree in history and politics -- she just gave a shit for the first time._

_She’d taken a class with professor Forel in the second semester of her first year, and she’d latched onto the concepts he presented to the class -- started reading about political theory and philosophical Maesters of court. She spent more time reading than she ever had before, both for classes and for fun. Now she carried a nonfiction hardback in her bag, or a paperback biography in her back pocket wherever she went. She was a sponge of information -- but it also kept her busy. Made her think about things that didn’t have to do with the hole she felt since both Gendry and Jon had left King’s Landing._

_Her friends had always known she had to keep moving at all times -- but in her first semester of her second year, she spent most of her time in class, reading, or working at the pub. Or on the phone._

_She talked to Jon while she made breakfast a few days a week, missing their easy and sometimes insignificant interactions around the house. She talked to Bran at least once a week after work, late in the night -- he tended to stay up late now that he was in his final year of high school, and she talked him through the stressful process of applying to college. He’d set his mind on Oldtown, but she’d been a little sad when he decided he probably wouldn’t be joining her in King’s Landing._

_And she talked to Gendry at least once a week, if not more -- about nonsensical things, or important things, or about what constituted big life events. He told her about his new friends in Storm’s End, and she told him about her studies and her conflicting feelings about what the hell she’d actually do with her life. But most of all, they talked about how their very different lives were taking shape. Because they needed the companionship, the mutual understanding of each other that just made things make sense when they needed a sounding board._

_Or maybe they just wanted to hear the others’ voice sometimes._

_One night in December, she’d called him on the way home from the library. She called him twice, and it went to voicemail after only two rings. He was screening her calls. She knew it, and it stung a little. She tried not to think too much about it, and decided to take a detour into the pub on her way home. It was the pub she worked at, but she spent a lot of her down time there, too._

_She ordered a beer from the Hound, a grizzly man who was her boss on most nights, and he knew something was up, but didn’t ask. She ran into her friend Lommy after only a few minutes of sitting at the bar alone, and purposefully pushed Gendry out of her mind._

_When he called her back the next day, in the late afternoon after her classes were over and before she was scheduled to work, she was on the fire escape smoking a cigarette. She didn’t smoke as much now that he was in Storm’s End, but sometimes she’d go out onto the fire escape to think and brought a pack with her out of habit._

_When she accepted the call after the third or fourth ring, he greeted her cheerfully. Too cheerfully. “Hey, how’s it going?”  
_

_She could tell he was driving, and his voice was too loud on his car’s speaker phone._

_“Hey, good.” She said blandly, taking a drag on her quickly fading cigarette. “About to go into work, though.” Because she wanted an out, even though she couldn’t nail down exactly why she didn’t really want to talk tonight._

_He rushed on, “Oh, yeah. Was just calling you back. I saw I missed your call last night?” His tone was unsure, and hers probably was, too. And this conversation felt so off, so different._

_“Yeah, no big deal. Just checking in.” Which was kind of true. She didn’t really have any updates. She just liked to call him when she was walking home alone at night. And usually he liked it too, made him feel like he was there beside her and she wasn’t walking across a dark campus in the dark alone._

_“Yeah, things have been crazy. Nothing big to report, though. Were you on your way home from the library?” It sounded like he was stunted, but rushed at the same time. Rushing to say something, or get to something, to normalize whatever this conversation was._

_“Yeah. Late night.” And she almost stopped herself, but asked anyway, “Where were you?”_

_He didn’t answer right away, a strange silence filling with stereo background noise of the car moving and the traffic around him. “I had a date,” he finally admitted._

_And after he said it she wondered if he’d thought about lying. Whether or not he considered telling her he was out with friends, or something generic like that._

_“Oh, yeah.” She said lamely, attempting to recover quickly. “How’d it go?” But she wasn’t sure if she actually wanted to know the answer._

_He must have felt similarly, because after a brief pause he asked, “Is it weird for us to talk about this?” But didn’t answer how the date had gone. He’d turned the radio off, too._

_She bit her lip and sighed, switching the phone to her left ear and stubbing out her butt. “I mean, yeah.” And a weird, nervous half-laugh fell from her lips. “But we kinda knew it would be, right? Eventually, at least.”_

_She heard shuffling and imagined he was running his hands through the hair at the back of his neck. The way he always did when he was being reasonable and responsible, but he wasn’t sure how to approach it. “Yeah, I guess. But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”_

_She thought about it, and really considered it. Did she want to know? Just hearing he’d been on a date made her stomach feel like it had fallen to her feet, but... “But I want to know about your life. All of it. And…” She fidgeted and bounced her knee, and her free hand reached toward the pack of cigarettes beside her while she paused. She didn’t know what else. She just knew she wanted to know._

_She’d always watched when she got blood drawn or when she knew a hard punch was coming at her in boxing class -- she watched as the needle sunk into her skin and when a fist approached her face, even when she knew it would hurt. Because she needed to know why and when and how. She needed to know all the pieces of information, even if they were painful. And this was no different._

_“I don’t know if I can do that.” He admitted, his words coming out slowly. She thought maybe he’d pulled over or parked._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I don’t know if I could hear about your dates. Or boys.” And she noticed he said ‘boys’ and not ‘men’._

_“But how does that work in this whole friend thing? How do we just hide a part of our lives from each other?” She pulled another cigarette from her pack and lit it quickly. Because this wasn't a conversation she wanted to have without some kind of distraction._

_“I don’t know,” he admitted. And she heard his car door slam. His voice was calm, but the force of the noise made her wonder if he was a little more affected -- frustrated -- than he let on._

_“I just…” She pulled a deep inhale from her cigarette, but knew he’d let her finish. “We agreed this was the right thing, right? I know we never talked about specifics, but we agreed that we’d be friends when you left, right?”_

_“Yeah,” he said simply, and she heard the cracking of his own lighter._

_“So that’s included in friend territory, right?”_

_“Arya, we’ve always been friends. Even when we were fucking. We were always friends. But I don’t know if I can hear you talk about your dates.”_

_It stabbed her like a dagger that he called what they had done ‘fucking’. He knew it was more, right? Was he downplaying it to make himself feel better? To make it seem like it was easier to give up whatever they were?_

_She considered letting it go, but she couldn’t. There was a long pause, one that fed her confusion and insecurity, and she thought she might be able to come up with the words to gloss over it all, but -- but what would that mean? What would it mean if they created more invisible boundaries, or she let something so blatantly hurtful just slide?_

_He was quiet, but the background noise was clear over the line so she knew he was still there._

_And suddenly she was_ **_angry_ ** _. Angry enough to growl out, “We weren’t just fucking, Gendry.” Because he needed to confirm that. Confirm that she wasn't crazy, and that she hadn’t imagined it all. And if she had imagined it, if they had just been ‘fucking’, then what the fuck were they even doing having this conversation?_

_He sighed heavily, and she could hear him inhaling and exhaling quickly -- could hear him moving, and could almost hear him running his hand through his hair. “No, we weren’t just fucking.”_

_But her anger was still sitting at the tip of her tongue, and she started to ask, “So why would you…” But she caught herself. Because that line of questioning verged on pathetic. You can’t ask someone to believe something meant more than it did to them. You can’t ask someone to love you back. But she’d never told him she loved him. Never had the courage. She’d told Meera once, that she loved him. But only once, when she was really high and her emotions were welling up and drowning her right before he left. She never told Gendry, though._

_So she started over, and shook her head in an almost comical attempt to clear it. “Never mind. I just need to know we’re on the same page about --”_

_But he cut her off. “I said it because it’s how I need to feel sometime, Arya. I need to think it was just...” and he trailed off._

_“Why?” Her voice was more emphatic than she intended, more feeling than she meant to convey or divulge. She needed to know. Because she never censored her feelings. The very idea was insane to her._

_“Because it_ did _mean something. It meant something to me and now we’re hundreds of miles away and there’s not much either of us can do about that.”_

_“What does that have to do with anything? We’ve been fine for months.” And she knew it wasn’t the right thing to ask, the right thing to feel even, but her temper took over, and… she had to ask._

_“I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. I’m trying to date, I really am, but I can’t --” he cut himself off._

_“But you don’t want to talk about it?” She asked, as a way of finishing his sentence. But it felt like she was dragging out every word of this conversation from him. But even though it was hard for him to say it, it was hard for her to ask, too. It was hard to wonder and fill in the blanks._

_“Yes. No. That’s not what I meant.” He sighed, long and deep and frustrated. She thought he might have run his hand over his face again. But she didn’t know if she knew him as well as she thought she did, simply because this conversation was going how it was. Maybe it was all so much more nonchalant than she expected. Maybe they hadn’t been on the same page all along. Maybe she’d just assumed everything. And maybe she was wrong._

_She felt defensive when she asked, “Then what did you mean?”_

_“I meant that you’re…” And suddenly he sounded lost. Like he’d pulled over on the side of the road and wandered into the woods, with no idea where he was going. And this conversation was the equivalent of jumping over unexposed roots, seeing but still so unsure._

_“You’re -- You're_ **you.** _You’re you, Arya. And no matter what, that’s…” His voice faded, and even though she was listening closely, she couldn’t understand what he meant. “No one else can be you.”_

_She didn’t know how to respond to that. And she was going to be late for work. But she couldn’t let it go, either._

_“Hold on a second,” she sighed, pulling her phone away from her ear and texting Sandor to let him know she’d be late -- again. She knew he’d cover for her, even if he’d give her hell for it._

_When she brought the phone back to her ear, she couldn’t hear anything on the other end of the line. “Are you still there?” She asked tentatively. A little breathless, and more shy than she’d ever really been with him._

_“Yeah,” he sighed._

_“I don’t know what to say to that,” she admitted._

_“To what?”_

_“That I’m me. I don’t know what that means, Gendry.”_

_He signed again, but maybe he was smoking again. “I don’t either.”_

_“Okay, well that’s not helping this conversation come to a resolution, is it?” She chided, more fire and resentment in her voice than she’d intended._

_“No, but I don’t have a better description. You’re you, and that means… something to me. It means something to me.” And she felt like she was pulling his words from his mouth like teeth again._

_She paused again, and she was running her hands up and down her thighs as the chill of early twilight started to reach her while she sat on the metal slats of the fire escape. “So you don’t want to tell me about your dates and you don’t want me to tell you about mine?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Ok, well I haven’t been on any dates,” and even though she didn’t mean for it to sound like it, it sounded like she was throwing that in his face. Like she was one-upping him somehow._

_He sighed, but didn’t retaliate. Didn’t defend or contradict._

_“I want to know about your life. And that includes your dates. I want to know. Even though it makes me feel…” She wasn’t exactly sure what it made her feel. Jealous? Angry? Weak? Maybe all of those things. But she told him, “Like things are different now. This isn’t temporary, and if we’re going to be friends, we need to talk about things without landmines.”_

_“I’ve never done this, Arya.”_

_“And I have?” She wanted to yell at him that she’d never done_ **_any_ ** _of this before. She’d never loved anyone before. She’d never tried to stay friends with the man who took her virginity before. She’d never tried to convince someone to be friends with her before. She’d never done any of this before._

_“I don’t know, you have a fan club up in Winterfell. Feels like you might have.”_

_And just like that, she laughed, deep and real and kind of surprised. And the tension finally broke. Because he wasn’t wrong. She did have a fan club of sorts back in Winterfell, a group of friends who’d pined after her in high school but she’d never thought of as more than friends. She’d kissed one or two of them, but nothing more, and even that had been mostly out of pure curiosity._

_“Well I never liked them back, stupid.”_

_“Well… I guess I should look up Micah sometime to see how he got over you.”_

_And the tension was completely gone. They didn’t return to the subject at hand, didn’t resolve their disagreement on what and who they’d talk about, but things felt somewhat normal again._

_Normal until a few minutes later, when she told him she had to get to work. He hesitated before saying goodbye, and she waited for whatever it was that he was holding back. This time she knew he would say it without prompting, and he eventually did._

_“Still opposed to long distance?” He asked finally, a breathy laugh disguising his discomfort in even asking. Trying to keep things on the nonchalant footing they’d established._

_And even though she missed him more than she knew how to tell him, even though she knew he’d probably give her whatever she wanted (because why else would he ask?), her answer came quickly and simply. “Yeah.”_

_It was the first and only time he asked directly about long distance. Then or later. It hadn’t been an option they even entertained before he left King’s Landing. They’d both expressed their confusion and disillusionment with the concept before they’d even started seeing each other. She was tactile and hard to stay in touch with. He was guarded and careful with his words. And they were smart enough to know those things about themselves, and that those characteristics didn’t lend themselves well to making a long distance relationships work. So they’d made that decision long ago._

_When she made it to the pub, almost half an hour late for her shift, the Hound was behind the bar and gave her shit for her tardiness._

_She was off her game all night, even though she kept up easily with the steady stream of thirsty college kids. It wasn’t until Edric Dayne turned up around eleven that she realized just how off she must have been. He clocked it right away, and he followed her outside when she went on break, asking her straight away what was up._

_She wasn’t sure if she should confide in Edric, but she also wasn't sure if there was anyone else she’d talk to about this. “We never had closure. I think…” She took a drag from her cigarette and was careful to blow it out in such a way that it wouldn’t blow back into his face. “I think we finally realized that it might be hard to stay friends.”_

_“I’m sorry, I know breakups can be really hard.” He touched her elbow, and she let him for just a second. She didn’t want to offend him while he was being supportive and attempting to comfort her. But she pulled away as quickly as she could without offending him._

_She didn’t respond, but he hung out with her in the alley while she smoked as many cigarettes as her break would allow and internally rehashed the entire conversation over and over again. And then he hung out at the bar, ignoring his friends for the rest of the night._

_And that was the first time she went home with Edric._

***

They woke up early to see the Tower of Joy. The Red Mountains that surrounded the narrow roads were backlit in soft terracotta, gold, and copper in the early morning light, the single tower jutted like a sword into the sky from the top of a high hill. 

The stories about the Tower of Joy were infamous, especially in the Stark family -- stories of lovers and love children and murdered kings. But in the shadows of the tower, it seemed so small and insignificant out here in the hills. So much smaller than she’d expected, no larger than a coastal lighthouse. 

They climbed to the top, where there was only a single large room with small windows every few feet. Even though the windows were small, the view was a harrowing panorama of the surrounding mountains and valleys, and the light in the chamber made her feel like the entire scene glowed with the stories in its history that would never be told. 

She took out her phone and captured a panorama shot from the center of the circular room. Gendry leaned against the wall, framed by two of the small windows and casting a long shadow like the arm of a clock pointing straight to her at the center. She saved it, but didn’t post it anywhere. 

They traveled west toward Oldtown, and when they stopped for a mid-day coffee and bathroom break, she called Bran. She walked the perimeter of the almost empty parking lot of the highway rest stop while the phone rang. 

“Hey baby brother,” She greeted when he answered.

“When are we going to get past this shit, Arya?” He asked in an exasperated tone that she recognized well.

“When you’re older than me.” 

“There are several physical laws that make that impossible, little sister.” 

And she didn’t mind his returning teasing, really. She was small and she knew it. She mercilessly teased all of her brothers, but she’d always been particularly close with Bran, and that came with a little extra teasing. So she could forgive him for shooting back, especially if it were true. 

“Yeah, well, that’s why you’re in charge of all the science stuff, kid.”

He sighed but she could tell he was smiling, too. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this conversation, favorite sister?”

She smiled at the official airs he always put on. He’d always been like this -- so much more calm and calculated with his choice of words than any of their siblings. Growing up in a house as chaotic as theirs had been hard for Bran, who was always more thoughtful and shy. It had taken him until his late teens before he found his footing with them all, but he and Arya had always been close. Always defended each other, always stuck close and confided in each other. 

So she was really excited to tell him she’d be making a surprise stop to see him. “Well, I’m about two hours outside Oldtown and I was wondering if you’d be free tonight?”

“Oh, so your crippled brother must not have plans, huh?”

She laughed, even though she hated when he talked about himself that way. “Stop that. I’d just like to see you, and I’m close. Wanna hang or not?”

“Well Jojen and I were going to see a band tonight at this shit dive, if you’re interested?”

She watched Gendry approach the car, and thought about him under the dim lights of cheap bar lights with the sound of ringing guitars. “That actually sounds right up our alley.”

“ _‘Our’_?” Bran asked.

“Yeah, Gendry and I are on a road trip.”

“Gendry, huh? I haven’t seen him in a few years.”

“Yeah, I hadn’t either. It was all kind of last minute. I’ll tell you about it when I see you. Can we stay with you, or is someone else crashing in your guest room these days?” Bran always had friends or colleagues, fellow academics, visiting from somewhere, so she didn’t want to assume. 

“It’s all yours, favorite sister.”

“Don’t let Sansa hear you call me that, Bran Flake.”

“I would never. And you won’t be telling her, either.”

“I would never,” she parroted back. 

“Good, just text me when you’re close and I’ll throw the keys down.”

They said their ‘ _see ya soons_ ’ and she walked back toward the car, where Gendry was leaning against the passenger side door looking at his own phone. 

“I can drive the rest of the way. We can stay at Bran’s,” she relayed when she got close enough, and he took the keys from his pocket to toss in her direction. She caught them mid-air and pocketed her phone. 

“I don’t remember the last time I saw Bran,” he admitted. 

She hummed, but didn’t know the answer, so she slid into the drivers’ seat. 

They made it to Oldtown just before the sunset, and she had to take out her phone to navigate the narrow streets to Bran’s flat. He lived near the Citadel, where ancient Maesters taught and learned the arts, sciences, and histories before recorded history even began. 

Bran had gone to Oldtown University, the public school founded by the ancient Maesters when the Knights of the Mind started to die out. He was in medical school now, but he could have done anything he wanted. His grades were impeccable, and he had a mind like a sponge that could learn and recite entire books with ease. He had a near-photographic memory, and he’d be an amazing doctor with an even better bedside manner. 

When they made it to Bran’s flat, a multi-story building that had probably been standing for a thousand years, they parked on the street and stood under the small balcony on the third floor, while Bran tossed the keys down to the cobblestones so they could let themselves inside. The building had a complicated lift system, so Bran didn’t come downstairs unless he was going out. 

Jojen wasn’t home when they arrived, and they brought their light bags into the guest room at Bran’s instruction, and then sat on the patio with a bottle of wine between them while they watched the sunset and talked about their trip so far. They glossed over how the plan for the trip had formed, but told him all about the Water Gardens and the Tower of Joy and their drive to Oldtown, and Bran gave them ideas for where to head next. 

“Well this is a happy surprise,” Jojen called from the door as he entered and saw them gathered around the small table with the glass patio doors open. He dropped his bag on the kitchen counter and walked straight to Bran before dropping a gentle kiss on his lips. 

He hugged Arya in her seat, and shook hands with Gendry. They’d met years ago, at the holidays in Winterfell, and they fell into easy conversation while Bran poured Jojen a glass of wine. 

Bran and Jojen had been together for as long as Arya could remember, even though she wasn’t exactly sure when it had turned romantic. They’d been childhood friends in the North. Their fathers had been friends, and she’d always been close to his sister Meera, as well. Meera was a year older than her and went to university in King’s Landing, too. She’d since moved back to Greywater Watch, but they’d stayed in touch. 

Jojen was tall and lanky, similarly to Bran, even though you couldn’t tell because of Bran’s wheelchair. Jojen put on the appearance of a delicate person, soft-spoken and thoughtful, but was gregarious and funny when around Bran or his sister. 

She was protective of Bran, even before his accident, but she had always liked Jojen, and liked him even more when Bran had confided in her not long after he went away to university that he and Jojen were more than friends. She’d always wondered if her shy, almost awkwardly intelligent brother would find someone who could love him for who he was, and _for_ instead of _in-spite-of_ the things he’d never let limit him. And Jojen was undeniably that person. 

“So you’re coming to see the Ice River Clans with us tonight, then?” Jojen asked after he caught up to their conversation and the wine bottle had emptied.

Gendry nodded, but clarified, “Yeah, if it’s ok? Sorry for inviting ourselves along.”

Bran laughed, “Gendry, I know you don’t have siblings, but our family is so big and obnoxious, there’s no plan you could ruin with a few more along. We all learned that a long time ago. We’re happy you’re here,” he said while wrapping his arm around Jojen’s shoulders. 

Gendry looked unsure, twisting and untwisting his fingers around the base of his wine glass with a strange look, but smiled and added a quiet, “Thanks for having us, mates.”

Arya smiled and rested her hand on his forearm, grabbing his attention and pulling his eye to hers as she quirked an eyebrow up teasingly. “You know better than that shit.” Because he did. Even if he’d been away for awhile, he would always be a part of the Stark clan, and the Starks stuck together like none other. They were pack, and they traveled like pack animals whenever they could.

***

They got ready slowly to head out to the bar. They switched to beer while Gendry and Jojen took turns taking showers, and Arya borrowed a shirt from Bran that she tied up above her left hip to make it fit better. 

The dingy bar they went to wasn’t far from Bran and Jojen’s flat. It was dark and loud and their shoes stuck to the floor. Arya and Bran found a table along the wall where they could see the stage without being swarmed by people, and Gendry and Jojen headed up to the bar for drinks. 

Gendry and Jojen had settled in an easy conversation about work on the walk over that Arya and Bran could care less about, so they just shrugged and watched them walk away. She sank into the booth and propped her feet on the side of Bran’s chair. He tried to swat her feet away, but she persisted and kicked his break with her foot.

“Okay, okay, truce,” he sighed when his sticky wheels started to squeak on the mystery substance caked on the floor. 

“You always knew what was best for you, Bran,” she gloated at her victory. 

“Yeah, and you never got over him, did you?” He nodded toward the bar, and all of a sudden she didn’t feel like she’d won at all. 

She sat up straight, laughing and dropped her feet back to the floor as a sign of surrender. She cleared her throat, but didn’t even consider lying to Bran. “No, I probably didn’t,” she admitted.

Now he gloated, his smirk small but pronounced by a small dimple on his left cheek. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

“I…” She didn’t know how to answer, but she was saved by the speakers beginning to hum. The band hadn’t started yet, but they were priming the crowd that was starting to filter in. 

“You don’t have to answer, but I know you, Arya,” he nearly yelled over the speaker that sat only a few feet from them. The booth seat started to vibrate slightly from the sheer force of the bass. 

She looked down, but smiled and nodded. He was right. She wasn’t exactly trying to hide it. She wasn’t even really hiding it from Gendry, either.

“He’s trying to figure out what you want, too,” he added conspiratorially, like he was confiding a deeply concealed secret. He always needed the last word, always needed to sound like he knew more than everyone else. But his eyes watched as Jojen carefully pushed through the crowd with two glass bottles in one hand, and two shot glasses in the other. Gendry’s wide shoulders were only a few feet behind him. And Bran didn’t say anything else on the subject.

Gendry scooted into the booth beside her, setting a beer and a shot in front of her and smiling easily. No one complained about the shot, and they silently clinked four glasses together in the center of the table. She could tell he was as at ease as she was. The whole trip so-far had been easy, but there was something so familiar about being in a dark pub like this one with one of her brothers. Even if it was a different brother. 

They talked easily, even if they had to yell across the table to be heard -- and the conversation was as easy as it had been years ago, too. She felt like she’d been transported back to ten years before. She was lost in the feeling of it, of the feeling of him close to her and of feeling so calm and surrounded by people she had missed so much. But with Gendry’s thigh only an inch away from hers, her stomach twisted in knots and she lost track of the conversation more than she would have liked to admit. 

When the band started up, they turned slightly to watch, but kept up an easy banter. Arya made fun of Bran’s floppy hair when his head started to slowly nod to the steady stream of guitar riffs, and Bran poked fun at Gendry’s stubble, comparing him to the rugged men in the grunge band on stage. Arya weighed in to point out the similarities in their flannel button downs, too, but Gendry just laughed good-naturedly and headed off to grab them all another round. 

When he returned, he crossed his ankle over his knee under the table and extended his arm across the booth at her back. She wished he would have wrapped it around her shoulders. But maybe that was the steady intake of alcohol talking. Or maybe it was Bran’s analysis catching up to her. Did he want to? Was he afraid to? Did he think she didn’t want him to? 

When the band took a break in their set, he leaned toward her, the hand at her back slowly moving to stroke the sensitive skin at her hairline. “Wanna smoke?” He asked, his lips just barely touching the curve of her ear. She shivered, but nodded, pulling him up to follow her out from behind the table. Bran and Jojen barely even noticed them leave.

Even though he was behind her, he pushed them through the crowd with his hand on her hip. When they hit the crisp night air, they only walked a few paces away from the door before he pulled a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He handed it to her first, and offered her the lighter from his shirt pocket.

He must have bought the lighter at one of the rest stops, because it wasn't the one they’d used the last few nights. It was white. 

She couldn’t help but smile. “I can’t use that.” He looked confused, staring at the plastic in his hand like he was trying to figure out a riddle, or read whatever offensive phrase was written on it that he hadn’t seen before. 

She liked that expression on him. She hadn’t seen it in awhile. He was so confident now, so sure of himself in a way he hadn’t been before. And she really liked confidence and assuredness on him, but she liked confusing him, too. Liked to know that if there was anything in the world that might trip him up, it would always be her. However small or insignificant the meaning of it might be. 

“I’m 27, Gendry.” And finally it clicked, and he laughed louder than she’d expected him to. Loud and deep and so full and real. 

She wondered if he was feeling the alcohol as much as she was. And maybe he was, because when his laughter died out he turned quickly to call to the nearest person loitering outside the pub, a young blonde girl who also had a cigarette balanced between her lips. 

“Oi, mate, can we borrow your lighter?” She almost giggled at his choice of words. He was definitely feeling the alcohol, too.

The girl nearly cringed at being spoken to so abruptly, but she held out her red lighter even while she watched him pocket his white one. They both quickly lit up their cigarettes, and she handed the lighter back to the girl with thanks before she pulled Gendry further down the block to put some distance between themselves and the other people taking advantage of the break in the band’s set. 

There was something so natural and familiar in the way they chatted with cigarettes hanging from their mouths, and how he leaned over her with his arm against the stone wall. 

He didn’t lean down to make a move, to kiss her or touch her or make anything more obvious than wanting to be close to her. But his posture was suggestive and possessive in a way she knew well and implied something they hadn’t acknowledged yet. 

When they reentered the dark pub, he navigated them toward the bar instead of toward their table. 

He stood behind her, making sure she was protected from the jostling crowd trying to get at the bar, too, and it felt like she was wrapped in her favorite blankets in Winterfell or sitting in her favorite booth at the pub she still frequented in King’s Landing. So familiar. So warm. So natural. He was careful not to get too close, though, not to fit her body to his, and she wondered why. She knew how their bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces or a well-worn glove. She knew, and she craved it, but she didn’t want to push.

The game was almost fun, the way they orbited each other, like the sides of magnets that could get close but never touch.

When he’d caught the bartender’s attention and they had drinks in front of them, he lightly brushed his lips on the soft spot between her neck and collarbone — quick and perfunctory, not lingering or teasing — before quickly grabbing the bottles and easing her around to head back to the table. 

She barely even remembered the rest of the night. He kept his arm across the back of the booth, but still didn’t wrap it around her. He just played with the hair at the nape of her neck under her ponytail, a soft touch that sent small shivers down her spine. She didn’t listen to another note that the band played, even though she shifted in her seat nonstop until they left the stage. 

Before they left the bar, Bran shot her a look that said it all. That he saw and he knew. That he had been right. And before they disappeared into the guest room, Bran hugged her and whispered a warning to not have sex in his house. In what was essential his bed.

When they were finally behind the closed door, he leaned against it and she immediately started to shimmy her pants down her thighs. He averted his eyes at first, but when she laughed and stumbled a little when her jeans got caught on her knees, he seemed to relax.

  
She was drunk. Maybe he was too, so nothing was going to happen.

“Gendry, you’ve seen it all before,” she giggled. “Actually, you were the first man to see it all.”

He ran his hand down his face, but she wasn't quite sure why. He only ever did that when he was stressed. She wasn’t sure why he was stressed.

He didn’t say anything, but he moved toward his bag in a chair by the window to pull out the only t-shirt he had with him. And even though he’d looked away when she undressed, she watched him remove his shirt with no sense of decorum whatsoever. 

She crawled under the plush comforter in just her underwear and Bran’s borrowed shirt, and watched him move around the room, unsure. He rearranged their things, moved their bags, put their shoes in a straight line beside their bags, and folded both of their clothes into neat piles.

Finally she had to just tell him plainly, “Gendry, come to bed.” And he did. He crawled under the covers with her and moved close, but not close enough to touch. 

When she woke up, though, his arm was draped possessively across her bare stomach where her t-shirt had ridden up. His fingers were slowly stroking her stomach, but she was pretty sure he was still asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the same-bed thing was the least I could do after that flashback... That conversation is based on one I had with an ex. We're actually really good friends, now. Remember I promised real? 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who comments, leaves kudos, and even you readers who prefer to lurk. This has become a little bit of a therapy project for me, and I refresh obsessively to see your feedback, so thank you very very much!


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